


Haunted Box

by owlickz



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Illiteracy, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlickz/pseuds/owlickz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her bag was a little box filled with memories she could not read anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted Box

**Author's Note:**

> for being one of my most developed ocs, i hardly ever write for elsa. rip.
> 
> (grant belongs to my friend, and is elsa's dad)

Sleeping was becoming stranger.

When she woke, there was this feeling of phantom arms wrapped around her. This ghost murmuring words she could not remember or understand before fading as she regained coherentness. Ever since she had ventured into that Old World Library, filled with robots, things like this had been happening more often. The men she traveled with, first Grant, and then Boone - who they had picked up later - had been kind to her since the beginning.

Boone did not say much – he was quiet. Always so quiet.

But Grant indulged her constant questions, something she was grateful for. Sometimes he would get this faraway look in his eye as he gazed out on the horizon – something painful in his thoughts, but he always came back.

Boone took longer to come back, though.

She would hear them talking when they thought was she asleep. Their voice hushed and tones intimate – discussing the things that had brought them to their present circumstances. Elsa tried not to listen, knowing it was rude. She would focus on the sounds of the Wastes and the cracking fire, letting their ambience lull her to sleep.

In Elsa’s bag there were papers shoved into an old tin box; shoved to the bottom and out of the way. Both tin and papers were on her person when they pulled her out of the grave back in Goodsprings. At the time the unremarkable tin and its contents were not important, as the constant throbbing of her head and body took up more attention. But now, as she woke every morning to ghosts of memories she could not quite escape or embrace, the little metal box seemed to weigh her pack down more and more.

It took a few days, but she finally worked up the courage to ask.

“Grant,” she began timidly, running her hands over the dented metal of the box’s sides, “Could you…could you do something for me?” The older man looked up from the fire, his gaze questioning as his eyes flickered to the box in her hands, “Hm? Sure.” Elsa quickly sat down beside him, jostling the log he had been using as a seat with the suddenness. She took a deep breath and shoved the box into his hands, “Can you read these? I can’t….”

Grant looked at her for a moment but nodded, flipping the clasp on the box and pulling out the folded mass of papers. “Letters?” he questioned, a hint of surprise in his rough voice, “You want me to read all of them? I don’t want to invade you privacy and take advantage.” Elsa paused, shaking her head after a moment, “No…just the names. Who they’re from.” Grant looked as if he wanted to say something, but indulged her as he flipped through the letters. “A few are from a woman – Maria, who appears to be your mother.” A funny look crossed his face as he flipped the paper to see the return address. “You’re from the Divide…and your mother’s name is Maria…” he trailed off before shaking his head in dismissal and continuing. “The rest are from someone named Ulysses,” he paused as he caught a few lines of the content, “They are, ah, rather intimate.”

The man looked to her for a reaction when she was silent for a while, “Still can’t remember anything?” he asked quietly. Elsa shook her head, “No…there are things that are there, but they aren’t. I wake up sometimes thinking I’m somewhere else, with someone else, but I just can’t….” Her face scrunched up in frustration as she dug her boot heel into the dirt. “Hey, it’s alright.” he told her, caring lacing his rough voice, “It’ll come back or it won’t, getting mad won’t help.” Elsa huffed, rubbing at the newest scar in the middle of her forehead – still sore after all this time, “You’re probably right – you usually are.” She muttered, tugging absently at one of the longer strands of her remaining hair, “‘S just that Ulysses is a name I keep remembering; it pops in my head all the time. I’m not sure why, or what for. I want to read the letters myself, so I’m not burdening anyone.”

“Hey,” the man began, “You’re not a burden. You pull your own rather well. Better then well.” Elsa looked up at him from the other side of her bangs, “Really? I’m helpful? For you and Boone?” Grant nodded, “Yep, so don’t worry so much. You’re a good kid, Elsa.” Excitement bubbled up inside of her at the compliment causing her to wrap her arms tightly around the man beside her. “Thank you!” she beamed. Grant coughed, patting her awkwardly on the back as best he could in her locked embrace, “‘Course, not a big deal. Though, watch that crazy strength of yours, kid.” Elsa pulled away, still grinning from ear to ear, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She bubbled, folding her letters from the past carefully and sealing them back into the tin, before wandering off.

The next day they found the 188 trading post, and one Veronica Santangelo.


End file.
